


Five Times Ethan Touched Ilsa + One Time She Touched Him

by oceans_and_lovers



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Attempt at decent characterisation, Canon-Typical Violence, Ethan is an ass-kicking sweetheart, Ethan loves his team and is physically affectionate towards them, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Ilsa is a badass slytherin spy queen who I would happily die for, Meaning he touches Ilsa..., Not Beta Read, Spies & Secret Agents, lots of running
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-22 12:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15582123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceans_and_lovers/pseuds/oceans_and_lovers
Summary: As said in the title: Five times Ethan touched Ilsa + one time she touched him.OR: Ethan is physically affection to those he loves and happens to also touch Ilsa a lot when they're on missions together or training. She, however, never touches him. Until...





	1. Chapter 1

Ethan smoothed down his tuxedo as he moved through the crowd, eyes flickering between their mark and Ilsa.

More often to Ilsa.

 

“Com licença,” he said again, continuing to push to the bar. It had the best vantage point over the party, so Andrews’ contact wouldn't escape his notice.

“Benji, update.”

“His contact is due any minute, but there's nothing suspicious on any of the cameras. And we still don't know where the exchange is taking place or - ”

“I'm working on it.”

No one noticed his muttering but Ethan still smiled politely at the guests close to him before he took a seat at the bar.

 

Find Andrews, find his contact, find the package, find the nerve agent. All within three hours. With no back-up. At an arms-dealers’ New Years Eve party.

Ethan sipped his scotch and took a deep breath.

“Two minutes.”

Rather than replying to Luther, he scanned the room again - at least fifteen guards, heavily armed, more at the entrances, several surrounding Andrews. Two close to Ilsa.

 

She was swaying slightly at the edge of the crowd, but she still attracted heavy looks from other guests. Likely because of her impractical dress.

It was gold and barely covered anything, much like the clothes everyone else was wearing, but she still drew attention because… she was Ilsa Faust. And hopefully not because anyone noticed the knife strapped to her garter or the ones hidden in her hair.

 

They made eye contact, and Ilsa’s eyes shifted to her left and back again quickly, her gaze hard as she turned to walk in that direction.

“Suspected contact, your 2 o’clock.”

At her direction, Ethan set down his drink and stood, moving to circle close to the group entering the room. All armed. All dangerous. With the half-moon tattoo on their necks.

“It's them.”

 

He was by the pillars now which went round the whole room and he could see Ilsa mirroring his position before moving back in among the partying guests, eyes focused on Andrews’ contact. 

His heart tugged sharply as she got closer to the men and he couldn't stand still long, following her lead whilst whispering, “Keep at a distance.”

“They're not here to make a deal.”

“Distance,” was all he could say as he walked past the thugs, being pulled with the tide of the crowd, and Benji kept speaking in their earpieces, “Ilsa stay back. Deal should be now. Three cars outside which are theirs. Two more pulling up.”

“Facial scans done,” Luther said, interrupting, “Real bad dudes, Ethan. French gang - codename Lune. Known for maximum casualties. Higher level than Andrews.”

 

“Andrews is out of his depth and not worth their time,” Ilsa said, and he couldn't see her as the men converged on Andrews. 

“Why did they come then,” he hissed, twisting round to try and find Ilsa without attracting too much attention.

“Money, revenge...”

Ilsa was whispering too which could only mean she was still close to them.

 

Ethan pushed more firmly through the dancing bodies, gritting his teeth, when the shooting began.

Screams filled the ballroom and people were crushing him as they fled the scene.

“Ilsa? Benji?” Ethan said, ducking low, and he sprinted towards the edge of the room, pulling out his gun, when he saw Andrews being grabbed by men from the Lune gang.

 

He reached Ilsa, who had her knife drawn and was shielding herself behind one of the pillars, and she said, “Plan?”

Bullets ricocheted close to them, and he said, ignoring Benji’s panicked voice in his ear, “Firstly, don't die. Secondly, follow Lune and Andrews. And we’re fine Benji, on our way.”

She nodded, and he pushed off and ran to one of the side doors - “This way.”

 

She followed him as they ran from the chaos of the ballroom into the corridors for staff and performers, dimly lit and empty.

He shot the locks on a door and burst through, checking she was behind him, then kept moving.

Another door and another corridor, then, with gunshots still echoing from the ballroom, they pried open a door to a balcony above a courtyard, which was close to Benji and Luther and the van.

 

Jumping down, Ethan turned to find Ilsa climbing onto the railings where she paused, looking at him.

He just looked up at her, and she sighed and moved her feet, “Shoes, please.”

Unlike in Vienna, Ethan caught himself grinning at her for a moment as he understood her request immediately, and holstered his gun.

 

They had just under two hours left and the sirens of the Lisbon police had started screaming in the darkness, but Ethan was gentle as he held her calf and tugged off one of her black heels, fingers unintentionally lingering on a scar on the edge of her foot.

He let go, and repeated the motions, pulling off her other heel whilst feeling the warmth of her calf and foot beneath his fingertips. Pull it together, he told himself, and after picking up her shoes, he held out his other hand to help her down.

 

Instead, Ilsa lept down unaided, landing with hardly a sound and glancing at him over her shoulder, said, “Don't drop them.”

She began climbing the other wall then and Ethan could only watch for the second it took his brain to gather itself up into coherence. 

Then he smiled, tightened his hold on her heels, and climbed up after her.


	2. Chapter 2

“Couldn't this wait? Not that I don't love -” 

Benji doubled over and Ilsa righted herself, having landing a kick to his side.

“I thought we were sparring!”

“You are Benji. Ilsa - play nice.”

She raised one of her eyebrows without looking at him and tightened her perfect ponytail.

 

The three of them were on a stakeout in the centre of Rabat, waiting for nightfall so Ilsa and him could trail known associates of their mark through the city undetected.

To pass the time till then, Ilsa had suggested sparring, probably fully aware that she was the fittest one present.

Unable to conceal the amusement in his voice, he'd said, “When was it that you last sparred Benji?” Which had led to Benji being pinned by Ilsa in under six seconds.

 

“You're not focused Benji, and you leave your left side open too much.”

Ethan continued to watch from the table as Benji glared at him and lifted his fists, whilst Ilsa prowled round him.

She feinted to one side then darted past Benji, landing a hit to his weaker side, then another, and quickly got him in a headlock.

Yelping, Benji hit her arm and she released him then went to get her water bottle, as Benji slumped onto the floor beside Ethan.

 

“That woman…” - Benji pulled a hand down his face and gulped down more air - “Is brutal. My bruises have bruises.”

“Rest up,” Ethan said, patting Benji's shoulder once and standing up to take his place, giving him a break.

“I didn't think you needed the practise,” Ilsa said, returning to the centre of the room and stretching.

“Thought you could do with a challenge.”

Their eyes locked and he squared up opposite her, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

 

He was the one to move first, stepping forwards, but she moved to the left, reaching round to grab his arm. 

Ethan quickly pulled his arm in and slammed his head forwards, making contact with hers and causing her to stumble, before she turned and kicked at his bruised leg.

 

This dance continued, with each of them trading blows for over a minute, a smile half-formed on Ethan's face the whole time.

Ilsa was like a cat when she moved, and it was only when she clawed round him and pulled him to the floor with her thighs that he huffed out a laugh and tapped her to let him go.

 

Standing up, Ethan moved away and readied himself. 

Again they sparred, with Benji snacking and relaxing behind them. Ilsa’s hair was loosening from her ponytail but she merely shoved it away, and Ethan tossed aside his sweat-stained top after half an hour had passed.

 

Just when it was time for them to start preparing for the recon mission, Ethan managed to push her down to the floor and pin her, her arms held down either side of her head.

They were so close, Ethan could feel her shortened breaths on his face and her chest moving against his. 

He blinked. So did she.

 

“Do you two want a moment alone?”

“Benji,” Ethan said, half-amused, half-warning, and he stood, offering Ilsa his hand.

She took it after a moments pause, gripping it tightly, and he helped her stand but with too much force as he pulled her up flush against his body.

She was warm against his skin, and for some reason, Ethan's heart beat hard against his ribs, and perhaps Ilsa’s was too.

 

They stepped apart then and Benji coughed.

Ethan brushed shoulders with Ilsa as he went to retrieve the files, and ignored - tried to ignore - the warmth he again felt at her touch.


	3. Chapter 3

“We have four hours to do this.”

“Pretty good all things considered,” Luther replied out the corner of his mouth, and Benji chimed in, saying, “Four hours for an interrogation? Our lucky day.”

“Four hours to get the location of the girls, tell the CIA, and leave on the 2100 plane to Istanbul,” Ethan said, “Who's up first?”

Without speaking, Ilsa stalked into the middle of the room and stood tall in front of Jackson, who was tied up and staring at the ceiling.

 

She'd been the one to track down and capture Jackson - the suspected head of a child trafficking ring and an aspiring arms dealer - and even Brandt had commented that she seemed more tense than usual. 

Ethan had noticed her change as soon as the mission had been accepted.

He couldn't guess the reason, but he knew for certain that Ilsa Faust was deeply affected by the disappearance of those girls.

 

Ilsa moved closer to Jackson, who was looking directly at her now, and Ethan balled his fists.

“Mr Jackson.”

He remained silent, and Ilsa walked round and pulled his head back by his hair, hissing into his ear.

“Ethan…” Luther said, tilting his head and frowning when Ilsa snapped Jackson’s head forwards.

“One minute,” he replied, noting the shaking of Ilsa’s hands and her lack of composure.

 

“Where are the girls, Mr Jackson.”

Silence.

“Where are the girls, Jackson.”

Jackson cocked one of his eyebrows and said, “They're already dead.”

 

Ethan instantly ran forwards to pull Ilsa back as she snarled and lurched forwards, ready to rip Jackson apart.

“He's lying, he's lying,” Ethan said to her, fingers bruising her skin and she struggled against him.

“Let go, Ethan,” she said, still trying to pull herself free from his hold. 

“We need him alive to get the information, okay. Alive and conscious. Then he'll be punished.”

 

Gradually, she stilled, but her muscles didn't relax when he let her go, and he placed himself as a barrier between her and Jackson - though he didn't doubt she could overcome him if she wanted to.

 

“Luther,” Ethan said, eyes trained on Ilsa, “Find out the location.” 

Hearing Luther's footsteps on the wooden floor, Ethan held up his hands to Ilsa who turned, yanked the door open, and walked out, hands no longer shaking but clenched.

And Ethan nodded at Benji, and ran after her.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

But when did any mission ever go to plan?

 

Ethan took down two more men, running through the warehouse with his gun raised, yelling into his coms, “Where's Carr?”

“We're in the street, north side of the building.”

“No Benji, Carr!”

“Oh right, sorry, second floor, on the move.”

Bullets buried themselves in the wall near his head, and Ethan swore before once again sprinting through the warehouse then up the stairs, disposing of enemy thugs as he went.

 

This wasn't the plan.

 

Four shots, no misses, and Ethan was clearing his way through those sent to kill them when Ilsa’s voice sparked through their coms, “He's gone. No trace of him or the bomb.”

“Shit,” Ethan muttered, “Sweep all floors as fast as possible. Meet at the van. Fast.”

Only minutes later, he'd covered the second floor and was finishing up when he heard shouts coming from down the hall.

“Ilsa?” He whispered, but there came no reply, and the shouts grew louder.

Worry flooded through him, and he started running. 

 

She’d said she was fine, but now he cursed his decision - he should never have let her on the mission when her injuries were still healing...

The image of her in pain pushed him forwards and it was too real when he burst in the door and saw her, prone on the ground, bleeding out. 

One shot and the man towering over her was falling backwards, dead before he hit the floor.

 

“No, no, no,” he said, cupping her face and tearing away her clothing, “Come on. Ilsa’s down. She's down.”

Ethan bit his lip and drew blood as Ilsa responded weakly and shook her head - “Ethan?”

“I'm here, stay still.”

One of his hands held her firmly in place and the other pressed down on the stab wound on her side. But she was still bleeding, hardly breathing, and Ethan could feel panic coursing through his veins, despite his years of fieldwork.

“Give me a second,” Ilsa asked quietly, blinking rapidly and she groaned as she shifted.

“Stay. Still. I… I need to bandage you and get you out.”

“I can… I do it. I can do it.”

“Stay still, let me. Please, Ilsa.”

He could see her grit her teeth as she lay back, and Ethan worked as fast as he could, the reality of her condition setting in as her breathing didn't steady and the bleeding didn't slow.

 

The main wound soon bandaged, he lifted her, thankful she was so slight, and she huffed but held onto his shoulders as he exited the building.

Her injured side was pressed against his stomach, helpfully putting pressure on the wound, and Ethan had his hands, damp with blood, on the bare skin of her back where he'd ripped away her stealth gear.

 

“How did this happen?” He said lowly. How did he let this happen to her?

Ilsa didn't - couldn't - respond, merely locking her jaw and staring at him fiercely. He couldn’t even think what he’d do if she didn’t make it...

“Oh my god, what the hell happened!”

“Benji, open the doors and Brandt, just fucking drive.”

“Since when did you swear?” 

Her words were slurred a little but she wore a half-smile on her lips, and Ethan placed her on the floor of the van and got to work on her wound.

 

“What happened?”

“One too many hits to the head. Too... slow to fully dodge.”

He couldn't meet her eyes as he bandaged her with actual medical supplies, placing his outer gear under her head as a makeshift pillow. The van rocked as Brandt sped back to base, back to safety.

“I should have -”

“I'm an. Agent too, Hunt. My fault.”

Rather than responding, he locked his hands over her worst stab wound to try, try and stop the bleeding, his heart pounding in his ears.

 

Ilsa covered his hands with one of own and they waited for the van to shudder to a halt, finding and holding each other’s gaze in the darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

“Two of whatever he's having.”

“Are they both just for you?” Shaking her head as she sank into the seat next to him, Ilsa said, “What does a lady have to do for a drink these days?”

Ethan grinned and slid one of the whiskeys into her hand - “For you, my dear.”

Her eyes twinkled as she said, “Thank you, darling.”

They both sipped their drinks leisurely, listening to Luther talking in their ears.

 

“Benji’s in their systems but is havin’ a little trouble. Security should go offline in…” He paused, and both Ethan and Ilsa heard noises crackle through their coms, “Twenty minutes. 2300 hours.”

“Twenty minutes,” Ethan said. Then they could start the dangerous part of the night - locating and cracking a safe, and retrieving a disk for the CIA. A disk every gang and organisation seemed to be after. And if they failed to retrieve it, many undercover agents would die.

So, the usual.

 

“This is exactly your type of party, Andrew,” Ilsa said, having twisted in her seat to look out over the hall, “Open bar, lots of gorgeous women.”

She raised an eyebrow and took another sip.

“My wife,” Ethan said, “Is the most gorgeous woman in the room.”

“You’re biased.”

“Not at all.”

 

And he wasn’t. She was wearing an emerald dress with a low back and thigh slit so high Ethan daren’t even look, and she was obviously the most stunning person in the room. 

But what snagged his attention, whenever his eyes strayed to her, was the light in her eyes. 

Usually so guarded, she seemed more open, and he couldn’t think why. So instead of dwelling on it, Ethan would just look on and take her in for several seconds, before focusing fully on the mission again.

But, he never let himself glance at the engagement ring he knew she was wearing.

Perhaps it was time he addressed his… emotions regarding Ilsa more closely, and tell her. After the mission was successfully completed, he’d do it.

 

Though he’d told himself that lie before.

 

“Why don’t we dance, honey.”

“What a wonderful idea, my love.”

If Ilsa registered that Ethan bit the inside of his cheek after the endearment rolled off his tongue, she didn’t signal that fact to him as she allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor, hand in hand.

Ethan, now composed, smiled at Ilsa and placed his hands on her waist, his fingers resting on her back.

She, in turn, put her arms round his neck, bringing their bodies closer together, and he could feel a pulse in his fingertips and the muscles tensing in her lower back.

 

“This isn’t as horrific as I’d anticipated.”

They spun slowly through the room, and Ethan said, “Low expectations?”

She inclined her head and smirked, and he continued, saying, “Alice, I'm wounded.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but Benji spoke into their coms, “Down to ten minutes.”

In silence, they kept dancing, and it was Ilsa who then led him, stepping with practised movements and Ethan followed, relaxed with her in his arms at least for five minutes longer. 

 

“You seem happier,” Ethan said, barely moving his lips as he also clocked the four men entering the room, clearly carrying weapons.

“I’m allowed to be,” Ilsa replied, “Maybe I have a good reason to be.”

 

He met her eyes and the light was still there, and he wanted to stop the mission, pause time, to ask her to explain, to justify the hope rising in his chest, but instead he turned her round to face the group of men now circling the dance floor.

 

When she met his look, the light in her eyes had dimmed, and she said into her coms, “Are they a threat to us?”

“If they are armed, yes,” came Benji’s slightly frantic reply, “Two minutes till blackout.”

“They don’t look friendly,” Ethan said, as more men arrived, and he moved them to the edge of the room, “Remember Lisbon?”

He knew Ilsa remembered the shooting and subsequent chaos at a similar party in Lisbon, and understanding his thoughts, she unlinked her arms from his neck and walked some fifteen feet away, ready to tackle a nearby security guard and take his gun.

Rather than escaping though, like in Lisbon, they had to make their way upstairs, and would have to skim round the edge of the room to the stairs to do so. Without being shot. In the dark. With more adversaries than expected.

 

“Sixty seconds,” Benji said, and Ethan kept his eyes on Ilsa, counting down in his head.

30…

She backed up, nearing the security guard, and he did the same.

20…

Looking back at the armed men, he noticed them reaching for their weapons.

15…

Some guards noticed too, and one of them raised their voice, holding up their gun.

10…

People started yelling, and the party guests started crowding closer to the exits, and more guns were drawn. 

5...

And both Ilsa and Ethan took down the guards close to them, taking their weapons as the lights went out, guns were fired, and Benji shouted, “GO NOW!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this all very quickly, and only realised the similarities this chapter has with the first one when I was editing it. I didn't change it as I liked what I'd written and I wanted to post this as soon as I could.


	6. Chapter 6

\+ 1

 

Ilsa’s body ached, and she was tired down to her bones.

The mission had been a success, but Ethan had been injured, and she’d found herself unable to think properly until Brandt had gotten him out.

In fact, she still couldn’t think properly, and she leaned her head against the plane window, the sky dark beyond the glass, trying to slow down her thoughts.

 

Ethan had always seemed invincible - the strongest, most durable, best member of the IMF, which is why he led them, and why Ilsa let him lead her.

He’d never let her down. Not in any way that mattered.

 

She began untying her braid, pulling it apart slowly, and her eyes rested on Ethan sleeping in the seat beside her, bandaged and out cold.

There was enough space that he could have sat somewhere else, but he’d insisted, likely delirious and confused, that he sat next to her, making the others smile at her despite their concern for him.

Ethan had fallen asleep soon afterwards, the flight to Washington long enough that there was no point fighting his body to stay awake.

 

Ilsa finished untying her hair, and her hands, rather than sitting in her lap, drifted to touch Ethan’s tightly clasped ones.

His knuckles were bruising but clean as she’d removed the blood off them already, and she traced the veins on the back of his hand.

 

Ilsa felt the need to touch him now, when he wouldn’t know, when he’d been injured yet again. His scars were mounting up. Like her own.

 

She moved one of her hands higher up his arm, the hairs there soft, the skin crossed with faint lines from knife fights. 

Higher again, and her hand closed over his shoulder for a moment, before she drew patterns into his shirt, her fingertips warming from the contact.

 

Her heart clenched as finally her hand reached his face, the creases smooth as he slept, and she touched his cheekbones and his forehead, still dirty from the mission. Lightly, her fingers touched his lips.

Moving down to his neck again, Ilsa could feel his pulse, and, as there were no dangers at present, she focused upon it, breathing in time with it, in and out.

 

When they land, she’ll say something. 

Maybe she’ll just kiss him, then punch him for being so stupid and reckless.

 

Nodding to herself as she made her plan, Ilsa withdrew her hand to put some distance between them once more, but Ethan followed it in his sleep and lay his head on her shoulder.

But Ilsa found she didn’t mind, and, ignoring the knowing grins of the others on the team, rested her head against his and closed her eyes to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I have only seen Mission: Impossible Rogue Nation and Fallout (both of which I loved), so the characterisation of everyone in this is done by guesswork and praying. 
> 
> But, I also felt I had a duty to write something for this awesome couple as there is so little out there, so I hope the existence of this fic makes up for the way I've written them.


End file.
